


Rat King

by lyrisey



Series: The Thousand Crimes of Taylor Hebert [4]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Rats, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrisey/pseuds/lyrisey
Summary: Danny Hebert gets powers... from an unconventional perspective.
Series: The Thousand Crimes of Taylor Hebert [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158749
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Rat King

Alan Watts once said something about the ineffability of death; how you can never remember dying, just like how you can never remember the moment you fall asleep.

I remember waking up.

I remember being _born_.

I open my eyes to dark and heat and slick, nails digging into heaving flesh, clenching around me like an overeager toddler's hand on their first tube of toothpaste.

Peristalsis clamps, squeezes, backpressure pops me free-

-and I fall, tumbling, tail madly cycling in an attempt to find balance, preserve orientation, _something_ -

_-tail?_

I land on all fours, claws digging into the pile of the cheap carpet as effluvia spatters me like soft and sour rain.

And then there's a sound above me, a ragged, gasping, _raw_ inhale, and I make the mistake of looking up.

The giant bends over me, balding, the curve of his glasses collecting tears into shimmering moon pools, his skin flushed red up past his receding hairline.

And I say giant, I mean _giant_ , his face impossibly wide above me, blurred and broad and red like an enormous cherry tomato floating in low orbit.

He shudders, saltwater shedding from the sides of his glasses; he gags, retches, and there's-

There's a feeling of _kindling_ , and I stare up at him even as I open my eyes to darkness, feel crushing muscle envelop me and _push-_

And I watch as the man vomits up something matted and squirming, tail windmilling as she - as _I -_ drop to the carpet next to me.

A rat. She's a rat and I'm _her_ -

I look through her eyes, see another lump of matted grey fur, eyes dark and beady like onyx-headed sewing pins.

I'm not a rat.

I'm _two_ rats.

The man spits up too-wet saliva, long viscous strands threaded with the smell of acid and bile and blood; hooks the temple of his glasses, pulls them off, discards them to the floor as the one of him and two of me look at each other.

I lift two paws. Wave in synchrony, watch as he falls back onto his ass in surprise.

"What." It's less a question, more a flat statement, his voice scratchy and numb with shock.

And all I can do is look up at him with my four eyes and think _you and me both, buddy._


End file.
